Lately it seems that any budding romantic with fingers and a Facebook account is capable of decrying some form of unrequited love, or a randy apoplexy of pent up sexual aggression. This commentary is not about them. Nor is it about the swathes of semi-literate science students who, between half-rhymes and indecisive ‘meter’, can craft a stab at a semi-comprehensible chat up line. No we are addressing a far greater issue: that of the self-referential Oxlove or ‘Masturboration’ as it shall henceforth be known.

Frankly, I don’t give a Shelley if your heart burns with the adoration of your ‘gals’ who ‘just wanna have fun, or your sympathy for that one mate who ‘is having a really tough time’ and will somehow be uplifted from his despondent disposition by a Facebook notification at four in the morning. Nor, I imagine, are many of us mightily entertained by the far greater plague of Oxlove lonely hearts, begging for and in some cases uploading exaltations of their own greatness, like a kind of inferiority complexed Kanye West.

No none for me sir. Let’s keep it simple. Let’s leave Oxlove for the lovers, Oxfess for the secretly proud and Oxfeud for the eternally embittered Jeremy Corbyn supporters, who no doubt have their own page entitled ‘Making Friends at University, a Beginner’s Guide’.